Ward Stories
A column organized by Dan Frey, Interim Poetry Editor
For this winter 2015 edition, we feature three poets, each with their own style and message. R. Martinez Jr. makes addiction real for his readers in Love is a Drug. Paul Chipkin grows into a peaceful man through his poem I Am That I Am. Beryl Khabeer explains that our soul is beyond the material world in her poem Brooching SOUL. I hope that you enjoy as much as I have.
Love is a Drug
By R. Martinez Jr.
I need a quick fix
I'm addicted to you
feeling high feeling low
what am I to do?
an aphrodesiac
affection in a sack
I can feel you in my veins
but Im stuck without a track
I'm drowning in a bottle
of absolute sorrow
if I cant have you now
there will be no tomorrow
Pure euphoria
when I'm with you its ecstasy
I take so much of you in
that I can't even see
I might have to quit cold turkey
I might have to ween
Love is a drug
you already proved it to me.
I Am That I Am
By Paul Chipkin
I am the very one
Who did those things
That I can be the one
Who is growing into
Who I am today
Because I am who I was
And have seen complexity
As I strengthened
Growing
And making peace better.
Love appears here,
Sprouts anew there…
Goodness greets me
In response to faith.
Divinely-inspired liberties
And holy trust
Bring me to pray
That those
Who I hurt along the way
Are exercising forgiveness,
(Believing in that eases my burden
as I stand in this present moment
loving my fellows with developing confidence).
Having fought off hoplessness,
I hold an optimistic vision
For the salvation of individuals.
Now, as it always was,
I am grateful for all that I have!
Brooching SOUL
By Beryl Khabeer, M.A.
The body is just the shell I live in.
I am no sensation; I am no senses.
I am a living S O U L.
The beat of my environ touch my true self,
Touch my S O U L
And echo through the senses.
Knowing and using the senses
For only the senses’ sake
Is to abridge Creation and Creator.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Wellness Fair to Enhance Peer Health
Wellness
Fair to Enhance Peer Health
According
to data from The National Survey on Drug Use and Health (NSDUH),
adults
aged 18 or older with any mental illness (AMI) or major depressive
episode (MDE) were more likely than adults without these mental
illnesses to have high blood pressure, asthma, diabetes, heart
disease, and stroke. Adults with serious mental illness (SMI) were
more likely than adults without SMI to have high blood pressure,
asthma, and stroke. Those with AMI, SMI, or MDE were more likely than
adults without these mental illnesses to use an emergency room and to
be hospitalized.
Our
peers therefore need education and screenings on physical health
issues to improve their overall health and quality of life. With that
in mind, the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene's
division
of mental hygiene's Office of Consumer Affairs organized a Wellness
Fair to kick off Wellness Week.
On
September 12th
from 10AM to 4PM, attendees were treated to nutrition, yoga, and
drumming workshops, health screenings for blood sugar, blood pressure
and body mass index, resource tables, exercise and fitness, smoking
cessation, social and cultural activities, education resources,
diabetes management and a healthy and satisfying lunch.
For
more information, you can contact the Office of Consumer Affairs via
phone or email:
347-396-7194
and bnovack@health.nyc.gov
Self-Direction in Medicaid for Well-being and Empowerment
Self-Direction in Medicaid for Well-being and Empowerment
By Briana Gilmore, Public Policy and Advocacy Director, NYAPRS
Self-direction is a strategy in organizing and delivering Medicaid-funded services and community supports that can dramatically enhance opportunities for people living with disabilities. The process transfers some of the funds typically afforded through Medicaid payments directly to the consumer, who develops a plan to utilize the money for services and supports for increased engagement and well-being. Hundreds of thousands of people experiencing developmental disabilities already utilize the approach, and many states have implemented or are seeking pilots to bridge the method to the behavioral health recovery community.
In New York, the Office of Mental Health (OMH) selected self-direction as a new service to implement through a Health and Recovery Plan (HARP) for Medicaid recipients with enhanced BH (behavioral health) needs. Implementing the program thoughtfully will take some careful planning; therefore the program will be piloted for a few years before being brought to scale statewide as a benefit for eligible recipients.
Any self-direction model must take into consideration the particular recovery needs of the community for whom it’s modeled. For people with physical needs, funds are often self-directed to health aides, house modifications, or other consistent supports. A model to support the behavioral health needs of a community must take into account social needs that span employment, education, community inclusion, well-being, and traditional rehab supports. New York is looking at an approach that would allow recipients to buy services like habilitation (services that help a person learn, keep, or improve skills and functional abilities that they may not be developing normally) and supported employment, but also direct funds to community wellness supports like gym memberships and yoga classes, college classes and bus passes.
The implications of self-direction are vast; it is the most flexible way for consumers to take ownership over their recovery and invest in chosen supports. The success of a self-directed recovery plan is largely dependent on the relationship between each recipient and a support broker, who is a chosen navigator that helps to maximize an individual budget. A recovery plan is based on current capacities and supports, and incorporates wellness goals for overall health. A recipient uses the plan as a tool to guide their spending. Purchases of traditional services and community supports are now typically made with smart debit cards that can track allowable services and be refilled directly by the payer.
There are many considerations that go into creating a self-directed design that benefits people with BH needs. The plan must take into account accessibility and enrollment processes, ensure culturally competent approaches, and allow for creative community-based solutions for enhanced well-being. The design must also plan for a relationship between a recipient-driven recovery plan, and a treatment plan that is supported by a Medicaid Managed Care Organization. Support brokers—who in most models are peer specialists or recovery-trained life coaches—should be supported by an infrastructure that can foster innovation and adaptiveness within the model. And ultimately, the financial process has to offer an efficient transfer of funds from the state Medicaid program.
I’ve been involved in a planning process with NYAPRS and the Columbia Center for Practice Innovations to help OMH develop a draft model for BH self-direction. The team has worked for eight months to review research, meet with experts in the field from around the country, and engage Medicaid recipients, DOHMH (dept. health mental hygiene), and other stakeholders to develop a strategy for implementation. The process will continue in the coming months as OMH explores the best framework and negotiates the process with other state agencies, Managed Care Organizations, and recipients.
NYAPRS (New York Association for Psych Rehab Services) has been advocating for a self-directed model in New York for nearly a decade. It’s exciting to know that the model could be offered to tens of thousands of Medicaid recipients with BH needs in the coming years. The state agencies, particularly through the Medicaid Redesign process, recognize that innovative approaches like self-direction can contribute to long-term savings and system benefits. These gains will be as a result of quality of life improvements like reduced hospitalizations and increased community engagement, as well as better overall satisfaction with the Medicaid program. A New York State pilot will include a strong research component to look at how recipients of different ages, backgrounds, and with different geographic living settings use and benefit from self-direction.
Barriers do remain, particularly in the appropriate financing of the approach. It’s also essential that appropriate protections be in place for both consumers and insurance companies before the design is implemented as a standard benefit. The design may provide a truly fundamental shift in Medicaid programming and consumer rights, if stakeholders on both sides continue to work together to actively improve the design through emerging best practices.
Look for opportunities in your area to participate in a self-direction pilot in 2015, as well as information about how you can get involved in the state’s planning process.
By Briana Gilmore, Public Policy and Advocacy Director, NYAPRS
Self-direction is a strategy in organizing and delivering Medicaid-funded services and community supports that can dramatically enhance opportunities for people living with disabilities. The process transfers some of the funds typically afforded through Medicaid payments directly to the consumer, who develops a plan to utilize the money for services and supports for increased engagement and well-being. Hundreds of thousands of people experiencing developmental disabilities already utilize the approach, and many states have implemented or are seeking pilots to bridge the method to the behavioral health recovery community.
In New York, the Office of Mental Health (OMH) selected self-direction as a new service to implement through a Health and Recovery Plan (HARP) for Medicaid recipients with enhanced BH (behavioral health) needs. Implementing the program thoughtfully will take some careful planning; therefore the program will be piloted for a few years before being brought to scale statewide as a benefit for eligible recipients.
Any self-direction model must take into consideration the particular recovery needs of the community for whom it’s modeled. For people with physical needs, funds are often self-directed to health aides, house modifications, or other consistent supports. A model to support the behavioral health needs of a community must take into account social needs that span employment, education, community inclusion, well-being, and traditional rehab supports. New York is looking at an approach that would allow recipients to buy services like habilitation (services that help a person learn, keep, or improve skills and functional abilities that they may not be developing normally) and supported employment, but also direct funds to community wellness supports like gym memberships and yoga classes, college classes and bus passes.
The implications of self-direction are vast; it is the most flexible way for consumers to take ownership over their recovery and invest in chosen supports. The success of a self-directed recovery plan is largely dependent on the relationship between each recipient and a support broker, who is a chosen navigator that helps to maximize an individual budget. A recovery plan is based on current capacities and supports, and incorporates wellness goals for overall health. A recipient uses the plan as a tool to guide their spending. Purchases of traditional services and community supports are now typically made with smart debit cards that can track allowable services and be refilled directly by the payer.
There are many considerations that go into creating a self-directed design that benefits people with BH needs. The plan must take into account accessibility and enrollment processes, ensure culturally competent approaches, and allow for creative community-based solutions for enhanced well-being. The design must also plan for a relationship between a recipient-driven recovery plan, and a treatment plan that is supported by a Medicaid Managed Care Organization. Support brokers—who in most models are peer specialists or recovery-trained life coaches—should be supported by an infrastructure that can foster innovation and adaptiveness within the model. And ultimately, the financial process has to offer an efficient transfer of funds from the state Medicaid program.
I’ve been involved in a planning process with NYAPRS and the Columbia Center for Practice Innovations to help OMH develop a draft model for BH self-direction. The team has worked for eight months to review research, meet with experts in the field from around the country, and engage Medicaid recipients, DOHMH (dept. health mental hygiene), and other stakeholders to develop a strategy for implementation. The process will continue in the coming months as OMH explores the best framework and negotiates the process with other state agencies, Managed Care Organizations, and recipients.
NYAPRS (New York Association for Psych Rehab Services) has been advocating for a self-directed model in New York for nearly a decade. It’s exciting to know that the model could be offered to tens of thousands of Medicaid recipients with BH needs in the coming years. The state agencies, particularly through the Medicaid Redesign process, recognize that innovative approaches like self-direction can contribute to long-term savings and system benefits. These gains will be as a result of quality of life improvements like reduced hospitalizations and increased community engagement, as well as better overall satisfaction with the Medicaid program. A New York State pilot will include a strong research component to look at how recipients of different ages, backgrounds, and with different geographic living settings use and benefit from self-direction.
Barriers do remain, particularly in the appropriate financing of the approach. It’s also essential that appropriate protections be in place for both consumers and insurance companies before the design is implemented as a standard benefit. The design may provide a truly fundamental shift in Medicaid programming and consumer rights, if stakeholders on both sides continue to work together to actively improve the design through emerging best practices.
Look for opportunities in your area to participate in a self-direction pilot in 2015, as well as information about how you can get involved in the state’s planning process.
The Gym Is My Salvation
The Gym Is My Salvation
By Ryan
Stabilizing Bipolar Disorder Through Fitness, Nutrition, Meds and Music
Some people would call it a “rant.” I call it an arch-nemesis. Yes, people sometimes can be crippled by their own condition. Only if you’re a fighter can you make it. I spent the earlier years of my life during my childhood as “cryin’ Ryan.” That’s actually what my late grandfather used to call me as a child because I cried so much. Even as a two-year-old, I was moody. It could’ve been the bout of spinal meningitis that caused my bipolar I disorder, but it’s genetic.
Bipolar and unipolar depression run on both sides of my family. When I turned the tender age of ten, I found my behavior to be quite odd. I’d go on binges where I’d starve myself until I had a Catholic school teacher give me a Snickers bar. I would retreat into the mountains a lot, as I’m from California (though I live in Illinois). It has been a battle ever since I was diagnosed with bipolar-I with psychotic features. I’ve had fifteen to twenty hospitalizations and am fortunate to be on my mother’s health insurance.
As much as it troubled me as an adolescent, I was always active in sports—until I got into the later years of high school. My most memorable class was weight training. It just clicked with me. The working out and the walks, runs, sprints as a kid kept me athletic throughout my life. This is what has helped me stay in shape while being on 8-9 medications a day. I choose a sort of diet that’s healthy and take my anti-oxidants, knowing that the medication side effects on the long-term can take a toll.
Most of the time I would be battling with the illness and then go work out when I was able to drag myself to the gym. I also suffered from the effects of electro-convulsive therapy (ECT) for two years. Yes, it helped my severe depression, but ECT rampaged my memory, so my short-term is very bad, but my long-term is intact, thanks to the effects of Acetyl L-Carnitine. I only take a few supplements, just high amounts of anti-oxidants.
I’d say the biggest battle for me besides depression is education. I spent four years at a city college and was at a junior level status at the university since I moved. I’m doing my Bachelor of Arts next because I just got my Associates degree and need employment that is good enough to cover my medication, doctor visits, hospitalizations (if I have any more) and ongoing therapy to help me cope with day to day issues.
I’m 37 now and feel like a dinosaur trying to get mediocre jobs. I’m currently on disability and will be for the rest of my life, but I’ll still have my education behind me that no one can take away from me. Please, no more ECT. The lithium plus the other pills that I take for my illness help regulate my moods so that I don’t have the severity in mood swings. I have a few friends here in Illinois, but they’re living their lives which makes it difficult to get together with them.
I’d much like to consider myself a success story as I always strive to stay in shape by hitting the gym six days a week. I’ve contemplated bodybuilding, but would never put a steroid in me even though I’ve been lifting more on than off for the past twenty-plus years. I’m nowhere near where I’d like to be physically, but I’m getting closer to my goal. The family support I receive has been fantastic. My step-dad and mother are wonderful to me. So again, I’ll remain a success story no longer plagued with disease even though I’ll have it for the rest of my life. Thanks for listening. Be sure to visit my heavy metal website, http://www.secret-face.com/, to view my writing and guitar transcriptions.
By Ryan
Stabilizing Bipolar Disorder Through Fitness, Nutrition, Meds and Music
Some people would call it a “rant.” I call it an arch-nemesis. Yes, people sometimes can be crippled by their own condition. Only if you’re a fighter can you make it. I spent the earlier years of my life during my childhood as “cryin’ Ryan.” That’s actually what my late grandfather used to call me as a child because I cried so much. Even as a two-year-old, I was moody. It could’ve been the bout of spinal meningitis that caused my bipolar I disorder, but it’s genetic.
Bipolar and unipolar depression run on both sides of my family. When I turned the tender age of ten, I found my behavior to be quite odd. I’d go on binges where I’d starve myself until I had a Catholic school teacher give me a Snickers bar. I would retreat into the mountains a lot, as I’m from California (though I live in Illinois). It has been a battle ever since I was diagnosed with bipolar-I with psychotic features. I’ve had fifteen to twenty hospitalizations and am fortunate to be on my mother’s health insurance.
As much as it troubled me as an adolescent, I was always active in sports—until I got into the later years of high school. My most memorable class was weight training. It just clicked with me. The working out and the walks, runs, sprints as a kid kept me athletic throughout my life. This is what has helped me stay in shape while being on 8-9 medications a day. I choose a sort of diet that’s healthy and take my anti-oxidants, knowing that the medication side effects on the long-term can take a toll.
Most of the time I would be battling with the illness and then go work out when I was able to drag myself to the gym. I also suffered from the effects of electro-convulsive therapy (ECT) for two years. Yes, it helped my severe depression, but ECT rampaged my memory, so my short-term is very bad, but my long-term is intact, thanks to the effects of Acetyl L-Carnitine. I only take a few supplements, just high amounts of anti-oxidants.
I’d say the biggest battle for me besides depression is education. I spent four years at a city college and was at a junior level status at the university since I moved. I’m doing my Bachelor of Arts next because I just got my Associates degree and need employment that is good enough to cover my medication, doctor visits, hospitalizations (if I have any more) and ongoing therapy to help me cope with day to day issues.
I’m 37 now and feel like a dinosaur trying to get mediocre jobs. I’m currently on disability and will be for the rest of my life, but I’ll still have my education behind me that no one can take away from me. Please, no more ECT. The lithium plus the other pills that I take for my illness help regulate my moods so that I don’t have the severity in mood swings. I have a few friends here in Illinois, but they’re living their lives which makes it difficult to get together with them.
I’d much like to consider myself a success story as I always strive to stay in shape by hitting the gym six days a week. I’ve contemplated bodybuilding, but would never put a steroid in me even though I’ve been lifting more on than off for the past twenty-plus years. I’m nowhere near where I’d like to be physically, but I’m getting closer to my goal. The family support I receive has been fantastic. My step-dad and mother are wonderful to me. So again, I’ll remain a success story no longer plagued with disease even though I’ll have it for the rest of my life. Thanks for listening. Be sure to visit my heavy metal website, http://www.secret-face.com/, to view my writing and guitar transcriptions.
Who Stole the Fun?
Who
Stole the Fun?
By
Robin
Brain Chemistry Run Amok is the Thief of Joy
Brain Chemistry Run Amok is the Thief of Joy
In
my autobiography I’m a war hero of sorts. Depression and
schizophrenia are wars where brainstorms and dueling
neurotransmitters wreak havoc with our lives in ways too horrid to
consider, stripping us of our dignity and leaving us with cold night
sweats for weeks at a time. And it is always there.
“Have
a nice day. Cheer up. Things will be better,” they say. And we try
to cheer up and have a nice day, but things don't get better.
We spend time in hospitals taking their medications, shocks, and patronization. We spend our every waking hour with a killer at our throats. Looking in the mirror we see the reflection of our murderer, one day to claim us as victim.
Then there are the constant assaults to endure, doctors who cannot quite fit us into their cookie cutter textbook diagnostic categories. Some days there is a palpable coldness chilling us to the bone that our beds, blankets and garments cannot cure.
Other days, tender nerve endings make light, sounds and other stimuli unbearable. A kind word cuts deeply. Birdsong sounds like nails on a blackboard. The fine sunlight filtering into our room blinds us, forcing us deeper under the covers. Waiting is all there is.
The next week a favorite tune becomes our enemy roiling around in our brain for days on end pulling us downward and down toward the edge. Television becomes the perpetrator of countless jingles that wound. Obsessions abound. Compulsions embarrass. Delusions lead us astray. Waiting is all there is.
We are victims of illnesses so cruel they can turn on us at any time. And the world rarely knows the penalty it extracts from us many days just to be able to walk down the street, holding onto our sanity.
We have no dreams to escape to. Our nightmares wrestle with us instead, leaving us in sweat-soaked beds and tear-stained pillows. Neither wife, nor husband, or family has a clue as to what is wrong, or knows what to do. Nor do we. We curse God, and feel shunned by those who seem to shy away from us. Our best friends stop coming around, write or call. The sun never shines in the sunshine state and all is not right with our world. Maybe it never has been or never shall be. That gun or that razor blade seem so seductive at times, and the large building we pass on the way to the store seems to call out our name, beckoning from its height. Wouldn't the fall at least offer surcease of sorrow?
Who stole the fun? Brain chemistry run amok is the thief of joy. It steals our heart and soul and if we ever let our guard down, it takes our mind as well—and a mind is a terrible thing to lose. We could even tolerate their medication and all those side effects, their electricity, their patronizing, if only there were some glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel has many curves, detours and dead ends. Maybe we get lucky and find redemption in Prozac, religion or AA and become a friend of Bill's. Maybe not.
But if it is not too late, and somehow you have not given up, then maybe these words from a survivor of these wars can assist you in the long, slow, never ending climb out of the black hole, back into some light. The journey back is not easy. Some don't want you back. And the work never ends if you do come back from the edge. You can never relax and forget. The edge is slippery and strewn with banana peels. The best you can do is never give up and keep trying. That helps. Never give up. You will always have bad days. There is no cure. There is some hope.
We spend time in hospitals taking their medications, shocks, and patronization. We spend our every waking hour with a killer at our throats. Looking in the mirror we see the reflection of our murderer, one day to claim us as victim.
Then there are the constant assaults to endure, doctors who cannot quite fit us into their cookie cutter textbook diagnostic categories. Some days there is a palpable coldness chilling us to the bone that our beds, blankets and garments cannot cure.
Other days, tender nerve endings make light, sounds and other stimuli unbearable. A kind word cuts deeply. Birdsong sounds like nails on a blackboard. The fine sunlight filtering into our room blinds us, forcing us deeper under the covers. Waiting is all there is.
The next week a favorite tune becomes our enemy roiling around in our brain for days on end pulling us downward and down toward the edge. Television becomes the perpetrator of countless jingles that wound. Obsessions abound. Compulsions embarrass. Delusions lead us astray. Waiting is all there is.
We are victims of illnesses so cruel they can turn on us at any time. And the world rarely knows the penalty it extracts from us many days just to be able to walk down the street, holding onto our sanity.
We have no dreams to escape to. Our nightmares wrestle with us instead, leaving us in sweat-soaked beds and tear-stained pillows. Neither wife, nor husband, or family has a clue as to what is wrong, or knows what to do. Nor do we. We curse God, and feel shunned by those who seem to shy away from us. Our best friends stop coming around, write or call. The sun never shines in the sunshine state and all is not right with our world. Maybe it never has been or never shall be. That gun or that razor blade seem so seductive at times, and the large building we pass on the way to the store seems to call out our name, beckoning from its height. Wouldn't the fall at least offer surcease of sorrow?
Who stole the fun? Brain chemistry run amok is the thief of joy. It steals our heart and soul and if we ever let our guard down, it takes our mind as well—and a mind is a terrible thing to lose. We could even tolerate their medication and all those side effects, their electricity, their patronizing, if only there were some glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel has many curves, detours and dead ends. Maybe we get lucky and find redemption in Prozac, religion or AA and become a friend of Bill's. Maybe not.
But if it is not too late, and somehow you have not given up, then maybe these words from a survivor of these wars can assist you in the long, slow, never ending climb out of the black hole, back into some light. The journey back is not easy. Some don't want you back. And the work never ends if you do come back from the edge. You can never relax and forget. The edge is slippery and strewn with banana peels. The best you can do is never give up and keep trying. That helps. Never give up. You will always have bad days. There is no cure. There is some hope.
Never
Give Up
If you try to return from hell on the slow train there is no welcoming committee and life must in fact begin anew and not where you left off. Your first and still favorite girlfriend and your best male friend aren't waiting at the station. But there are other people to meet. And perhaps some of those old friends will be happy you returned as well. You became different and are not the same person they knew and loved. You were probably pretty scary to them. Give them the benefit of the doubt; be willing to move on.
Then perhaps one day if you are lucky, technology lends you a hand. By chance you acquire a computer and get online. The internet or video games become a real presence in your life. You miss it when you are away from the consoles. You have something to wake up to. Email from online friends. News of any sort you choose. Music. Endless tutorials. Software to review and share. A Journey to take.
The light at the end of the tunnel gets a bit brighter. Days pass more quickly as you learn to work the net, play the games. There are search engines to try. Sweepstakes to enter. People to meet. Interactive games to play with others. Time is not so much of a burden. You can still learn, grow, socialize in a new way. Your views can be sent to multitudes of e-zines hungry for input. Reality of a different nature begins or returns slowly. Not as you wanted perhaps but life is more bearable again. Writing begins or continues. There is a renewal of hope, a rebirth of sorts in cyberspace.
If you try to return from hell on the slow train there is no welcoming committee and life must in fact begin anew and not where you left off. Your first and still favorite girlfriend and your best male friend aren't waiting at the station. But there are other people to meet. And perhaps some of those old friends will be happy you returned as well. You became different and are not the same person they knew and loved. You were probably pretty scary to them. Give them the benefit of the doubt; be willing to move on.
Then perhaps one day if you are lucky, technology lends you a hand. By chance you acquire a computer and get online. The internet or video games become a real presence in your life. You miss it when you are away from the consoles. You have something to wake up to. Email from online friends. News of any sort you choose. Music. Endless tutorials. Software to review and share. A Journey to take.
The light at the end of the tunnel gets a bit brighter. Days pass more quickly as you learn to work the net, play the games. There are search engines to try. Sweepstakes to enter. People to meet. Interactive games to play with others. Time is not so much of a burden. You can still learn, grow, socialize in a new way. Your views can be sent to multitudes of e-zines hungry for input. Reality of a different nature begins or returns slowly. Not as you wanted perhaps but life is more bearable again. Writing begins or continues. There is a renewal of hope, a rebirth of sorts in cyberspace.
Robin Williams' Death Shines a Light on Depression
Robin Williams' Death Shines a Light on Depression
By William Jiang, MLS
We Still Need a More Open Discourse on Mental Illness
I have been putting off writing about the death of Mr. Williams. Although I never met the man, I still smile when I think of his comedic antics. He made me laugh so so many times. It was shocking and sad to hear of his suicide. I remember I learned of his death on Facebook. It was a gray day.
I feel Robin William’s untimely death teaches us a lot about mental illness and specifically clinical depression in today's USA. In 2020 clinical depression will be the new number one cause of long term death and disability, worldwide, according to the World Health Organization, so a conversation about depression and suicide needs to happen. The stigma of depression and mental illnesses of all kinds must end because, in the end, the stigma of mental illness kills people just as surely as the illness itself. Not only must the person deal with low mood and feelings of hopelessness and isolation due to the mental illnesses themselves, but the shame and further isolation of the stigma associated with the illnesses is an additional stressor.
They say it is lonely at the top. Robin Williams said, “The worst thing in life is not to end up all alone. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone.” When one is a rich star who makes his money in mirth, the last thing he wants to project to the public is that he is not feeling like laughing all the time. What a personal hell that poor man was in, trying to live up to the public’s perception of him as a comic character. I have a feeling the pressure of being two people—the comic and the man—suffering with depression caused a cleft in his mind and life.
We should all be comfortable with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, in the sense that if we break a leg we are not a broken leg. We have a broken leg. If we become depressed, we are not a depressive. We are a person worthy of love and respect who is struggling with a dangerous beast that lives within called depression.
The US and the world society needs to come out of the dark ages and have an open and honest discussion about mental illnesses of all types. Why? We need our sparkling gems of people, all imperfect, like Mr. Robin Williams, to continue to sparkle- all of us. Matthew Fox said, “If you look closely at a tree you'll notice it's knots and dead branches, just like our bodies. What we learn is that beauty and imperfection go together wonderfully.” Every knot and age ring in a tree’s trunk tells a story of the personal history of the tree. The imperfections are what make each tree uniquely beautiful. Robin Williams wasn't crazy. He wasn't ever alone. He is now a fallen star. He was loved by many who never even met him. He will be missed.
Note: Will Jiang has authored 15 books, many about mental health, and his blog is located here: http://www.mentalhealthbooks.net
By William Jiang, MLS
We Still Need a More Open Discourse on Mental Illness
I have been putting off writing about the death of Mr. Williams. Although I never met the man, I still smile when I think of his comedic antics. He made me laugh so so many times. It was shocking and sad to hear of his suicide. I remember I learned of his death on Facebook. It was a gray day.
I feel Robin William’s untimely death teaches us a lot about mental illness and specifically clinical depression in today's USA. In 2020 clinical depression will be the new number one cause of long term death and disability, worldwide, according to the World Health Organization, so a conversation about depression and suicide needs to happen. The stigma of depression and mental illnesses of all kinds must end because, in the end, the stigma of mental illness kills people just as surely as the illness itself. Not only must the person deal with low mood and feelings of hopelessness and isolation due to the mental illnesses themselves, but the shame and further isolation of the stigma associated with the illnesses is an additional stressor.
They say it is lonely at the top. Robin Williams said, “The worst thing in life is not to end up all alone. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone.” When one is a rich star who makes his money in mirth, the last thing he wants to project to the public is that he is not feeling like laughing all the time. What a personal hell that poor man was in, trying to live up to the public’s perception of him as a comic character. I have a feeling the pressure of being two people—the comic and the man—suffering with depression caused a cleft in his mind and life.
We should all be comfortable with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, in the sense that if we break a leg we are not a broken leg. We have a broken leg. If we become depressed, we are not a depressive. We are a person worthy of love and respect who is struggling with a dangerous beast that lives within called depression.
The US and the world society needs to come out of the dark ages and have an open and honest discussion about mental illnesses of all types. Why? We need our sparkling gems of people, all imperfect, like Mr. Robin Williams, to continue to sparkle- all of us. Matthew Fox said, “If you look closely at a tree you'll notice it's knots and dead branches, just like our bodies. What we learn is that beauty and imperfection go together wonderfully.” Every knot and age ring in a tree’s trunk tells a story of the personal history of the tree. The imperfections are what make each tree uniquely beautiful. Robin Williams wasn't crazy. He wasn't ever alone. He is now a fallen star. He was loved by many who never even met him. He will be missed.
Note: Will Jiang has authored 15 books, many about mental health, and his blog is located here: http://www.mentalhealthbooks.net
A Voice for the Voiceless: One Man's Saga
A Voice for the Voiceless: One Man's Saga
By Pete
A Call for Mental Health Advocacy
I was born at the Flower Hospital in New York City in 1936, the only child of older parents. There were questions as to whether my mother, whose health was unfavorable, should have contemplated childbirth at the age of 36, but she found a way. My father was 57 years old and didn't want children.
I was otherwise a healthy baby boy born into a life of privilege. My mother ensured that I would be afforded every opportunity to succeed. I attended kindergarten at Friends Seminary and in 1946 joined the St. Thomas Boys' Choir.
After moving to Bucks County, Pennsylvania, I attended the Lawrenceville School where I played soccer and became an All-American swimmer. During the summer I held various jobs as camp counselor and lifeguard. I attended Brown University, majoring in Classical Studies. I became captain of the swim team, and set a number of swimming records. After graduating from Brown, I attended the Institute for Classical Studies in Athens, Greece, then returned to Lawrenceville to teach Latin. I also became a Housemaster and coached Lower house athletics.
I was married in 1960 and earned an M.A. in Latin from Columbia the following year. That Spring my wife and I had our first child.
In 1961, I began teaching Latin at a private school near Toledo, Ohio, where I also coached the Greek and Chess Clubs and was involved in community-based classical associations. Our second child arrived in 1963.
In 1965, the Toledo Blade published a story on our propitious expanding clan entitled, "Family Puts Fun In Learning." I began working that year toward a second Masters degree at the University of Michigan. We moved to Ann Arbor where I obtained an M.A. in Greek in the spring of 1966.
As I started work on my doctoral thesis, our third child arrived. I was now 30 years old and looking forward to a promising future in academia and ongoing roles as a coach, mentor, and community leader. But my proudest and most important responsibility would always be the one which carried me home every day, as a loving husband and father of three.
Then I started finding Satanic messages hidden in the works of Cicero and Virgil. Then came the voices. My wife and I argued. I became violent, threatening her and the children. I grew withdrawn and became complacent. I paced, began smoking, and gained weight. Needless to say, the family was thrown into a collective shock, confused, helpless and terrified.
In November 1966, I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Thus began an odyssey of torment and disgrace which I have now endured for nearly half a century. The out-of-pocket cost of my care over this time is well into the millions of dollars.
By the early 1970s, as the situation became increasingly volatile, my wife filed for divorce. Paranoid schizophrenia decimated my family, which has since, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist.
I had no contact with my children for nearly 20 years, until one day in 1994, my son came to see me. By then I was known as "Sir" and insisted on being called "Sir." Later I changed my name again. To this day my caretakers refer to me as "Pete."
Prior to her death, my mother set up a charitable trust naming me as its life beneficiary. She was well-aware of the severity of my condition while reserving the hope I would someday improve. Nevertheless, medical understanding of schizophrenia was still in its infancy. By all accounts, she had arranged to provide for my care for as long as I lived, if necessary.
Thus far, the courts disagree. After 29 years' residency in a long-term psychiatric facility (which does not accept Medicaid) I am now 77 years old, in ill health, and at risk of eviction as the result of nonpayment of expenses exceeding $220,000. In pursuit of a resolution to my legal dilemma, my son and guardian has learned firsthand that the mentally ill have no voice in mainstream society and little influence in our courts and legislature.
The severity and progression of my disease has left me psychotic and utterly incapacitated, unable to manage my own life and affairs. Consequently, my story has been provided by my son who not only assumed the responsibility for my care but in so doing became a voice for all victims of mental illness and their caregivers who seek justice and peace of mind.
By Pete
A Call for Mental Health Advocacy
I was born at the Flower Hospital in New York City in 1936, the only child of older parents. There were questions as to whether my mother, whose health was unfavorable, should have contemplated childbirth at the age of 36, but she found a way. My father was 57 years old and didn't want children.
I was otherwise a healthy baby boy born into a life of privilege. My mother ensured that I would be afforded every opportunity to succeed. I attended kindergarten at Friends Seminary and in 1946 joined the St. Thomas Boys' Choir.
After moving to Bucks County, Pennsylvania, I attended the Lawrenceville School where I played soccer and became an All-American swimmer. During the summer I held various jobs as camp counselor and lifeguard. I attended Brown University, majoring in Classical Studies. I became captain of the swim team, and set a number of swimming records. After graduating from Brown, I attended the Institute for Classical Studies in Athens, Greece, then returned to Lawrenceville to teach Latin. I also became a Housemaster and coached Lower house athletics.
I was married in 1960 and earned an M.A. in Latin from Columbia the following year. That Spring my wife and I had our first child.
In 1961, I began teaching Latin at a private school near Toledo, Ohio, where I also coached the Greek and Chess Clubs and was involved in community-based classical associations. Our second child arrived in 1963.
In 1965, the Toledo Blade published a story on our propitious expanding clan entitled, "Family Puts Fun In Learning." I began working that year toward a second Masters degree at the University of Michigan. We moved to Ann Arbor where I obtained an M.A. in Greek in the spring of 1966.
As I started work on my doctoral thesis, our third child arrived. I was now 30 years old and looking forward to a promising future in academia and ongoing roles as a coach, mentor, and community leader. But my proudest and most important responsibility would always be the one which carried me home every day, as a loving husband and father of three.
Then I started finding Satanic messages hidden in the works of Cicero and Virgil. Then came the voices. My wife and I argued. I became violent, threatening her and the children. I grew withdrawn and became complacent. I paced, began smoking, and gained weight. Needless to say, the family was thrown into a collective shock, confused, helpless and terrified.
In November 1966, I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Thus began an odyssey of torment and disgrace which I have now endured for nearly half a century. The out-of-pocket cost of my care over this time is well into the millions of dollars.
By the early 1970s, as the situation became increasingly volatile, my wife filed for divorce. Paranoid schizophrenia decimated my family, which has since, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist.
I had no contact with my children for nearly 20 years, until one day in 1994, my son came to see me. By then I was known as "Sir" and insisted on being called "Sir." Later I changed my name again. To this day my caretakers refer to me as "Pete."
Prior to her death, my mother set up a charitable trust naming me as its life beneficiary. She was well-aware of the severity of my condition while reserving the hope I would someday improve. Nevertheless, medical understanding of schizophrenia was still in its infancy. By all accounts, she had arranged to provide for my care for as long as I lived, if necessary.
Thus far, the courts disagree. After 29 years' residency in a long-term psychiatric facility (which does not accept Medicaid) I am now 77 years old, in ill health, and at risk of eviction as the result of nonpayment of expenses exceeding $220,000. In pursuit of a resolution to my legal dilemma, my son and guardian has learned firsthand that the mentally ill have no voice in mainstream society and little influence in our courts and legislature.
The severity and progression of my disease has left me psychotic and utterly incapacitated, unable to manage my own life and affairs. Consequently, my story has been provided by my son who not only assumed the responsibility for my care but in so doing became a voice for all victims of mental illness and their caregivers who seek justice and peace of mind.
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